the stitches become you
by gungnirburst
Summary: He will dress Inumuta in his clothes. [AU. Inumuta/Iori.]


I've done terrible things today.

**Notes**: slash, alternate universe - modern setting, mild gore, sewing applied to body parts, obsessive behavior, liberties taken with minor characters.

* * *

There is a boy in his class who wears high collars that cover his mouth and nose.

Not even remotely fashionable or practical, in Iori's opinion. Breathing has got to be slightly uncomfortable, especially with those sweaters and jackets. Whoever had the audacity to make these pieces of clothing is a downright idiot. This boy is a bigger idiot for actually buying them.

His classmate does not talk very often, and everyone notices when he does, however negatively those reactions mostly are.

It's irritating. _He_ is irritating. His clothing is an eyesore.

Iori could create clothing so much better than what this boy wears.

.:.

Inumuta Houka.

The boy's name is Inumuta Houka.

.:.

Clothing is the one joy Iori has in the world. He only joined the sewing club - not to sit in a desk and sew quietly - but to make clothes. His needles and sewing machines and fabric create masterpieces with his name on the tag. Dazzling others with his work is a source of great pride for him. He _loves_ it, revels in it even. There is nothing better than receiving compliments for his clothing and seeing people wear them.

Which is why, when he shows utmost generosity to Inumuta and offers to make proper clothes for him and is soundly turned down, Iori feels not only rage, but offense as well.

.:.

His sewing suffers. His clothes come out less and less perfect each time he stews over the rejection. Anger ruins him, turns his needles against him. No one really notices something is off, but he does every single time fixing needs to be done.

How _dare_ Inumuta? How dare he deny what Iori so dearly enjoys? And for what, exactly, silly high collars? Those high collars are absolute trash!

A stitch is messed up, a needle clutched in a shaking hand.

.:.

Iori offers again.

Inumuta says no.

.:.

Iori can't even touch a sewing machine without wanting to throw it at a wall.

_Why_ won't he just say yes?

.:.

Iori offers once more.

Inumuta says no.

.:.

His fingers bleed from the needles. Nothing works right.

.:.

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy—

.:.

Iori offers one more time.

Inumuta says no.

.:.

_Inumuta_.

_Says_.

_No_.

.:.

_Just say yes already_.

.:.

He cannot so much as sew fabric together anymore.

.:.

_Why_?

.:.

_No_!?

.:.

If Inumuta really likes to have his mouth covered, why not give him a reason to?

.:.

Iori follows Inumuta home.

The house is empty and dark when they arrive, which is just what Iori had hoped for. He rushes Inumuta at the door and they both fall inside, Inumuta yelping in surprise and Iori quickly slamming the door shut behind them, locking it up. Inumuta lays on the ground stunned, Iori standing above him.

"What are you—are you crazy!?" Inumuta yells hysterically, eyes wide behind his glasses, mouth still hidden by a jacket with a zip.

From his right pocket, Iori produces a needle and a spool of thread.

"You had to make this difficult, you know," Iori says, threading the needle.

For the first time in weeks, the thread does not miss the hole.

"Your attire is atrocious," he continues. The thread spins from the reel until he deems there to be a good length of it, biting the thread to cut it off from the spool. "It hurts me to look at it." He moves to sit on Inumuta's stomach. "All I wanted to do was make you look good, and you denied me."

His free hand comes up, lowering Inumuta's high collar down to his neck where it belongs. With lips slightly parted, Inumuta still just stares at Iori, motionless. Iori grabs those lips and purses them together, keeping them closed.

"But I never rescind my offers."

His words finally seem to motivate Inumuta and he begins to struggle, arms flailing up at Iori in an effort to push him away or to dislodge the hand from his mouth.

Hardly letting that be a deterrent, Iori jabs the needle into the bottom lip.

Inumuta's teeth part and he screams. Frantic now, he jerks around and kicks and yells. Iori stays focused no matter the struggles, and the needle eventually comes out from the lip. Blood slips out in a thin line from the puncture wound. Inumuta groans behind his sealed lips, agonized, and fights back even harder.

Iori shushes Inumuta softly. "Be still or you'll hurt yourself," he says lowly, pushing the needle down through the top lip. Inumuta cries out again, tears streaming steadily from his eyes.

Flesh is not quite like fabric, Iori soon discovers. The needles do not enter fluidly, but that's not to say piercing is impossible. It's completely possible; just a bit difficult. Iori just cannot go as fast as he would like to.

The sewing continues the same way all throughout. Blood stains his needle and thread and Inumuta's lips, and Inumuta never stops screaming and fighting for freedom. His breathing is hard and quick through his nose, his chest rising and falling just as fast, clearly due to panic. Iori takes every hit that connects and keeps his weight down to keep Inumuta immobile.

He will not back down. He _will_ dress Inumuta in his clothes.

Iori releases the lips he's been sewing up, the needle having just broken through and threaded the last bit of his mouth. Red streaks his fingers, as well as Inumuta's lips and cheeks.

It's not his best work, but it will do for now.

Inumuta is passed out.

.:.

Iori had made the perfect outfit for Inumuta before he was even refused the first time. A white sweater - just because it seems like a personal favorite - and a nice pair of dark jeans; it's certainly much better than what Inumuta walked around in before. There is absolutely no high collar to speak of at all, and that satisfies Iori plenty. The clothes sit in his bag, folded neatly alongside more needles and thread and fitting pins.

He undresses Inumuta and redresses him in his new clothes swiftly and carefully while Inumuta is unconscious. He then pulls the set of fitting pins from his bag, newly bought just for this very occasion. Biting a few between his teeth - quick access: always important - he holds one thoughtfully between his pointer finger and thumb, debating on where to stick the pin first.

He chooses the chest because it's a good place to start. He raises his arm and stabs the pin into Inumuta's right breast, imbedding half the pin.

The pain wakes Inumuta up automatically. He screams behind his sealed lips. The poor idiot nearly rips his mouth open, but the pain must stop him from doing so, for he presses his lips back together only seconds after barely inching them apart. Sobs shake his body and wide, teary eyes stare hard at Iori out of fear.

"I can't have you taking them off, not when I worked so hard," Iori explains.

The fitting somehow goes by much faster than the sewing; there really isn't that much to adjust at all! It's merely insurance. A few pins in the chest, arms, and stomach, and a couple in the legs finishes up everything quite nicely. There's blood on the new clothes - and Iori feels like he should care about that detail - but he doesn't.

It's perfect. _He's_ perfect. He's made a great piece out of something unsightly. Inumuta is wearing his clothes. That's all he wanted.

He feels normal for the first time in weeks. His fingers itch for fabric and his ears yearn for the noise of a sewing machine.

"You look great," Iori whispers breathlessly, admiring his work. He presses his lips to Inumuta's sewn shut mouth, Inumuta jerking away and making an strong noise of protest in his throat. But that's fine; Iori is too happy to be bothered.

"This is only just the start, too." Wonder fills Iori's voice. "I can make anything."

A smile lights up his face.

"I'll make you look even more beautiful."

Iori needs to make more clothes.


End file.
